


some things are eternal

by ohmyvalar



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:57:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/pseuds/ohmyvalar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy raised his head, slowly, and then big, blue eyes were staring up at him, a mixture of wariness and hope. </p><p>Logan felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. </p><p>Brown hair, blue eyes, all the exact shade of a particular mutant that he had known, all those years ago. </p><p>Years later, Logan is the only one still alive. </p><p>But some things are eternal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some things are eternal

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone!

Logan stands before Scott and Jean's graves, head bowed. The others from a half-circle behind him, and they form a small, quaint mourning circle, their group of mutants who knew them. Those that are left. 

(The year before the Professor had gone, and Logan had watched in silence as Magneto arrived, his face a deathly pale mask of terrible emotion. He had sat alone at the service, apart from the rest of the Professor's students and staff. Maybe it was because he felt superior to them all, but Logan rather suspected otherwise, sensing and smelling the overwhelming waves of sorrow, regret and grief. 

Knowing what he did now from his trip to the past, Logan closed his eyes and let him be, despite the outright hostility some of the students projected at Magneto. It wasn't a day on which the man would try to rage havoc against the Xavier Institute and its population.)

Logan's gaze moves onto the engraved tombstones, the carved names and all they had been in life. 

We are all running towards our uncertain future, but definite deaths. 

...............

Time hurtles past in a reckless, uncaring tunnel. Inevitably, ultimately, Logan is alone. 

He moves to a remote town, a nameless and nonexistent place to most, whether they are what is left of his enemies or friends. Logan doubts that he has much of either left. In the recent years, Logan had left off most interaction, human or mutant, returning to what he had been back before he had joined the Professor and his mission. 

He takes up a job as a construction worker; not exactly high-paying, but Logan is silent and strong and doesn't try to stir up trouble, and has no one to feed but himself, so he gets by, and even gets a promotion or two between years. 

Then Logan stumbled upon the kid. 

The kid was huddled in the corner beside Logan's place, one of those abandoned cottages near the forests. Logan had found it empty, but in fairly good condition, and had repaired what he could with his bare hands. Now, it was at least a place he could stay, although it didn't have the barest feeling of home. 

The kid was shivering, under the thin protection that his clothes provided in the winter cold, but what caught Logan's eye was the soft brown hair that peeked out beneath the layer of snow that had settled over it. 

Sensing a nearby presence, the kid shrank back into the wall behind him, still not looking up. Logan's heartstrings tugged at him without him even knowing why, and he stooped down to look the kid in the eye. 

"Hey, kid." Logan started, and his voice was rough with misuse. 

The boy raised his head, slowly, and then big, blue eyes were staring up at him, a mixture of wariness and hope. 

Logan felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. 

Brown hair, blue eyes, all the exact shade of a particular mutant that he had known, all those years ago. 

Logan knelt there, frozen, and those blue eyes blinked in confusion, snow running down his hair. The boy shuddered again, and Logan noticed that his lips were turning blue. He couldn't have been out here alone for any short period of time. 

The boy wasn't any of the kids around town that Logan at least recognized. It was a small town; too small for any of those secret affairs and the illegitimate love children that were often the product. Had the boy ran here from another nearby town? 

Fuck it. The boy was freezing out here, and Logan didn't know who to trust to take care of him. Besides, if he gave him away now, Logan would never know who he was and how he had come here. 

Decision made, Logan grunted and stood up, a hand outstretched. "Come on, kid, let's head inside. It's too cold out here for you." 

The boy's eyes widened, and gods, those depthless pits of blue struck Logan like a particularly nasty stab wound. "I won't hurt you," Logan added gruffly, when he saw the kid's clear hesitation. 

For reasons that Logan couldn't even begin to comprehend, the boy seemed to believe him. He staggered to his feet, and nearly collapsed from putting too much weight on his numb legs. 

Sighing, Logan swept the kid up into his arms, hugging the almost unhealthily light frame close to his chest, where his warmth would at least dispel some of the chill. Almost unconsciously, the kid closed his eyes and burrowed his head into Logan's chest, and Logan felt a warm sensation in his chest that he hadn't felt in years. 

........... 

The kid had fallen asleep in Logan's arms, so Logan laid him down in the bed and pulled the blanket firmly over his frame. He had never had use for a heater, so now the blanket would have to do. 

A through raid of the kitchen told Logan that his range of beverages were definitely not suitable for a boy of mere eight or nine. Glancing at the boy, who was still curled up underneath the sheets, soundly asleep, Logan decided to make a quick trip to the local supermarket to shop for supplies. 

When Logan returned, a bag of groceries and essentials in each hand, the boy had evidently woken up for some time, and was curiously examining something in his hands, cautiously turning it over again and again in his small hands. 

Logan realized, with a start, that out of all the things in the cottage, the boy had picked up the red visor that Logan had kept since its owner had left. 

Approaching the kid, Logan braced himself against an anger that never came. Seeing the kid turn the visor over in his hands made Logan feel a strange sadness instead, and an underlying sense that it was right, that somehow this boy had more ownership to it than Logan had ever had. 

But that was fine. Logan had never claimed ownership over the red visor, just as he had never done so over its owner. 

"Hey, give that back, kid." Logan said abruptly, and watched as the kid started, looking guiltily up at him. Logan could smell the sudden fear and uncertainty washing over him in waves. 

Wordlessly, the kid handed the red visor over. 

Logan smoothed a thumb over the red lens of the visor, and felt the familiar ache start from deep inside him, a slow burn at all the things he hadn't said in time and all the chances he'd let slip by. All the nameless things that he hadn't tried to pin a label on, and now it was too little, too late. 

Silently, Logan placed the red visor reverently back down onto the bedside table where it had rested for the past years. 

When he turned back, the kid was still staring nervously at him, judging his reaction. Logan managed a small smile, and held his hands out, palms facing outwards, placating. 

"Peace, kid. I'm not angry." He explained. The kid's eyes flickered hesitantly to the red visor, then back at Logan. "It's.... Strange," The kid finally said, struggling to use his limited vocabulary to explain his thoughts. "Who... Who gave it to you?" 

Logan shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "He left." He said simply. 

After Scott's death, the ownership of his possessions had fallen into question. With both Professor X and Jean dead, Scott had no next of kin to speak of, and his will hadn't specified any details, either. 

That had come as a surprise to Logan. Scott had always been so organized to a fault, so wont to plan everything out, from the smallest things in life to big scale missions. Logan had expected Scott to have already written a section dedicated to the allocation of each of his belongings in his will, especially with the lives they all had led. 

Death had been such an imminent possibility. 

Logan and Storm had taken charge of the funeral arrangements, so naturally, the duty of the allocation of Scott's possessions too had fallen to the duo. They'd spent weeks filtering through the items, sorting them as fairly as they knew how. Logan remembered well the sense of guilt at what he saw as invading the mutant's privacy. 

Storm had comforted him, and then passed the red visor to him. "He would have wanted you to have it," She had said, and there was a knowing look in her eyes that made Logan think she knew of the unnamed things and feelings that had passed between him and Scott. 

On the official forms, Storm wrote that the visor was useless to anyone else anyway. No one had argued. 

Snapping back to the present, Logan realized that the kid was staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. "He must have meant a lot to you, Mister." He said stoutly, and Logan felt that strange surge of emotion again, because the words were coming from this kid who shared so many features with Scott, more than the kid would ever know. 

He nodded silently in acquiescence, then asked, "I'm Logan. What's your name, kid?" 

Blue eyes looked right into Logan's as the boy replied, "Scott." 

And Logan felt the footsteps of fate creeping up on him; in that moment, he swore that some cruel entity had deposited this boy right in front of him, knowing all the things that Logan could do. 

His mouth felt dry, and there was a distant ringing in his ears. "... Scott?" It had been years since he'd uttered that name, so many years. Impossible. What sort of insane coincidence was it that this boy, with Scott Summer's blue eyes and brown hair, shared the same name too? 

The kid, Scott, nodded. Bewilderment washed over him in waves at Logan's reaction. Logan would know if the kid was lying, but the worst thing was that he was telling the truth. 

"Mister Logan?" Scott asked timidly, and those blue eyes were widening again. 

Oh, damn it all to hell. There was no way Logan was going to make the boy leave now. 

...........

So Scott stayed, and Logan made sure that he went to school just like all the other kids in town. Logan took pains to make sure that his claws stayed hidden, and kept his mutation a secret. The kid was normal, as far as Logan could see. After all, what were the chances that this kid had a mutation too? 

As the kid grew, Logan sometimes had the ridiculous illusion that he would grow into the Scott Summers that Logan had known. That young man who, despite his age, had years of hard-earned knowledge and experience under his belt and had already been eroded of all innocence by the time Logan had met him. 

But it was just an illusion, Logan told himself. This Scott wasn't Scott Summers. 

He wasn't Scott Summers. 

And then Scott had turned seventeen, and everything had gone to shit. 

At seventeen, Scott had started growing out of his gangly, awkward adolescence, and started filling out his lanky frame; his shoulders becoming wider and more muscled as his growth spurt brought him to near Logan's height. 

With soft brown hair and his beautiful, baby blue eyes, Scott was probably the kind of guy girls in school clamored after, but if Scott had a lover, he certainly hadn't brought her home or mentioned her to Logan. 

A strange change had come over their relationship, together with Scott's maturation; they had never been quite father and son, but now there was a definite edge to their interactions that Logan couldn't pin down. 

The resemblance to Scott Summers was almost painful now, especially after Logan had discovered his mutation: a strange, weaker variation of telepathy; strong enough to catch onto Logan's most surface, transparent thoughts, but not enough to dig deep into his mind and control him. 

That was fine, Logan decided. At least it was a mutation Scott could hide easily enough from his peers and friends without being persecuted as a freak like Scott Summers had been as a teenager and child. 

He had showed Scott his claws one night, crashing together on the couch, and Scott had admired them with a light of reverence in his blue eyes, and reached out with a careful hand to touch them. 

Logan had shied away, afraid that they would hurt Scott, but Scott had promised that he wouldn't make any sudden movements. "You can control them, right?" He'd challenged Logan, and the tone was similar to the ones he'd so often adopted during his adolescence that Logan winced, and agreed reluctantly. 

Scott had eased a careful finger on the edges of the cold claws, and the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant; another set of warm hands stroking them as if they were a treasure, and not just a killing weapon. 

And that was bullshit, Logan knew. The claws were extensions of him, part of his body just like his hands and feet and torso, but the way Scott was worshiping them- 

Before he knew it, a rush of fiery heat was coiling deep in his gut, and Logan realized, too late that Scott was just close enough to sense his thoughts. 

A strange look crossed Scott's face, and his blue eyes darted up to look into Logan's. Logan retracted his claws abruptly, his blood chilling at the realization of what he'd just felt. "Time for bed," He said gruffly, his voice low with nameless emotions, and stood up and left, leaving a silent Scott alone on the couch. 

When Scott had been younger, Logan had let him have the bed, opting to sleep on the couch himself, but more often than not, Scott had snuggled into his embrace in the middle of the night. So Logan had given up, and just slept together with Scott on the single bed. 

The bed's frame had supported a child and Logan's heavy frame well enough, but as Scott had grown, the bed had started sinking ominously under their combined weights. Logan had gotten them another bed, and Scott had reluctantly stopped his attempts at sneaking into Logan's bed. 

Now, Logan lay down on his own bed, sleepless. Minutes after he had crawled into bed, Scott had followed, plopping down on his own bed, inches away from Logan's own. Logan had pretended to be asleep, but between Scott's telepathy and his natural talent for observation, there was no lying to the kid. 

Kid. Logan still thought of Scott as a kid. So how could he have had such a reaction towards him? It was wrong; Logan was probably the only father figure that Scott had known for years. Logan wasn't a good man, but repeating what his father had done, according to Victor, was something that Logan would never do. 

Glancing over at Scott's sleeping form, and then at the red visor sitting on his bedside table, Logan felt a strange tangle of emotions in his heart. 

............

Logan woke up to a bright ray of sunlight shining directly into his eyes, and a warm body next to him in bed. A hand was tangled in his unruly hair, and another positioned on his chest. A weight shifted itself directly onto Logan, and in the hazy morning fog, Logan grunted and threw an arm around a waist, pulling the warm body flush against his own. 

A familiar laugh sounded in his ear, and then warm lips were on his, enthusiastic and skillful in their assault on Logan's mouth. The familiar smell of the man was like the sweetest aphrodisiac to Logan's keen senses. 

Shifting impatiently, Logan moved his lover until their erections were pressing up against each other, grinding them together messily. 

Their mouths broke apart with the tandem, and the man let out a moan, "Logan!" 

The sound of that clear voice was like a bucket of cold water to Logan. Snapping his eyes open, Logan found himself face to face with wide open blue eyes, clouded with a filmy layer of lust. 

To his shame, the first thing that Logan felt looking into that pleasure-slack face, was another bolt of fierce arousal. Fuck, had it really been that long? 

But this was Scott; Scott, whom he had singlehandedly raised from a child. Even if he had never seen Scott as a son- 

Hastily, Logan pushed Scott away, none too gently, at the same time scuttling over as far as he could, away from Scott on the bed, sitting up with a wince. How had he fucked up so majorly? 

Scott let out a confused whine, and tried to crawl back onto Logan's lap, his brown hair sweaty and matted against his forehead. Logan refused to look at the sight presented in front of him, and instead commanded lowly, "Stop it, Scott." 

The soft, tempting sounds emitting from Scott's mouth ceased immediately. A cold silence descended upon the cottage. Scott looked up at Logan, a hurt look in his wide blue eyes. 

Logan felt a pang in his heart, but now wasn't the time to feel soft or guilty yet. He had to set Scott straight about his feelings right now, or there would be repercussions. He could hate himself all he wanted when he was alone, once Scott had gone off to school. 

"Scott, why did you do that?" Logan asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as he could manage, even though his mind was a turmoil of emotions. 

For a moment, Scott looked horribly betrayed. Then his expression closed up, and an angry look entered his eyes. "You know why I did. You felt it too. I want you." 

Logan groaned inside his mind. Gods, this was even worse than he'd thought. "Kid, you know nothing about that. You don't want me, you have some sort of... Some sort of misplaced hero worship, or something." 

Scott shook his head vehemently. "No. I don't have daddy issues, Logan. And I'm not a kid anymore! I know what I want, Logan, and what I want is you." His blue eyes turned beseechingly on Logan.

Logan turned his head away, unable to meet those eyes. "It's not right, kid. I... I'm so much older than you. I practically raised you!" The silent 'I'm no good for you' was left unsaid, but Logan knew that Scott would pick of up telepathically anyway. 

A hand shook his shoulder. "Look at me, Logan. Say my name. Say- say my name!" Scott practically shouted the last sentence. 

Slowly, like the coward he knew he was being, Logan raised his eyes to meet Scott's bright baby blues. "Scott," He finally said, soft and low. 

All the breath seemed to go out of Scott's lungs, and with it, all his righteous fury. "See," Scott muttered, almost to himself. "That's all he cares about. The name. Scott, you fucking idiot." He swiped the back of his arm across his eyes, and Logan smelled the salty tang of tears. 

"No, wait-" Logan said, realization dawning on him like a chill spreading through his veins. "Wait- Scott, no!" He reached out with a hand to stop Scott from moving away, but he shrugged it off roughly. 

"So tell me, Logan," Scott said fiercely, and Logan saw that he wasn't going to let it go. 

"Alright," Logan said heavily, "Alright." 

He told Scott about the story of Scott Summers, bits and scraps of what Jean and Professor X had told him combined with what he'd learnt himself, all the way from the beginning to the very bitter end. 

As he spoke, he saw Scott's eyes widen and then turn sad, and he hated what he saw as pity in the depths of those baby blues. 

When Logan was done, he turned aside, suddenly needing to control the surge of emotions within him. It was the first time he'd ever told anyone the story, the full story, of any one mutant that he'd known. 

There was an exhilaration in sharing, in knowing that he was no longer the only one carrying the burden of knowing someone who had died in their prime, never to realize their full potential. 

He only realized that he had been crying when Scott placed a gentle hand on the side of his face, carefully wiping away tears. Logan looked up, and saw that Scott's blue eyes were brimming with unshed tears too, and there was an understanding there that he had never even hoped to find. 

Scott didn't go to school that day.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never read the comics, so please forgive any possible -ah- inaccuracies. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
